


Card Games

by Wheely_Jessi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Mother-Daughter Relationship, New Family, Post-Divorce, Queer Families, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: Early-2000s modern AU.Patsy is a single mum to her ten-year-old daughter, Grace, from a previous marriage. Having met Delia later in life, they are now navigating what it means to be a family. And what it means for Grace still to have contact (or not) with her dad.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount, Patsy Mount/Original Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 51





	1. Tears, Txt Tlk and Telephone Conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatadaywehad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatadaywehad/gifts).



> (As an apology for being so absent from Tumblr chats recently, and thanks for your support with early versions of this story.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected card from Grace's dad causes tears, and a tense phone call.

‘He doesn’t want to see me!’

Over her daughter’s head, crouched down and holding her in a tight hug as she sobbed, Patsy met Delia’s eyes. Their mutual desperation hung thick in the air. The dilemma they had been presented with wasn’t of their own making at all, but they were both devastated. And whether it was their doing or not didn’t matter, since they were the ones who had to deal with it.

No, she clarified internally, _she_ had to deal with it. Delia didn’t deserve to be dragged any further into the mess of her previous relationship. The trouble was she didn’t have the slightest clue where to start. There were layers upon layers of lies already, and she had no desire to add another. But she also had no desire to hurt her daughter by being truthful for the sake of it when she was in no state to hear even half of what’d gone on recently. So she heard _herself_ say, soft and low into the curly strawberry-blonde hair resting below her chin, ‘Gracie, love, you know that’s not true.’

‘It _is_!’ the ten-year-old wailed into her shoulder, refusing to look up.

If the reply were simply a sign of their shared stubborn streak, she would tut and cajole her preciously precocious child from tears to laughter. But she knew now wasn’t the moment to make light of how Grace was feeling. The enormity of the emotions was enough to manage on its own and, having apparently been dismissed by one parent, teasing from the other (however light-heartedly and lovingly meant) could send her self-worth spiralling almost too far to be salvaged. So she just waited for the crying to calm into a whimper, wondering if there would be any more words once proper speech was possible again.

And there were – albeit still spoken in a quiet and sad voice, as tears kept streaming down cheeks that bore a striking resemblance to her own.

‘It _is_ true. He said it in his card.’

She was confused, and began racking her brain for which card might be being referenced. Neither a birthday nor Christmas were around the corner – not that he was reliable with either of those anyway. She’d also thought the problem was purely the change of plans at the weekend. But the additional information told her there was more to it, even if she couldn’t work out what. Then she remembered the flicker of recognition when she picked up the post and caught a glimpse of his handwriting, so asked gently, ‘The one that arrived this morning?’ Grace nodded and, mirroring the movement, she posed a second question, ‘Do you think you could find it for me, sweetheart?’ Grace nodded again, so she said, ‘All right. Go on then,’ expecting a pair of lanky legs to sprint upstairs. But her daughter just knelt on the floor of the hallway, rummaging in the bookbag she hadn’t even registered had been flung carelessly aside when the meltdown started as soon as they shut the front door after the school run. Surprised, she couldn’t hold back a third question. ‘Have you been carrying this around all day?’

‘Mhmm,’ Grace nodded yet again, passing over the open envelope. ‘Didn’t want to look at it before school so I brang it with me to read at breaktime.’

Just as it wasn’t the time for jokes, it wasn’t the time for a grammar lesson. So she drew a deep breath, partly to stop an indulgent chuckle at the logic behind children’s word choices, but mostly to brace herself for what she had to do next. ‘Is it okay for _me_ to read it _now_?’ Grace nodded for what must be the fourth time, and she worried briefly that the combination of tears and repetitive head movements might lead to a head _ache_ in the not too distant future. But damage control required a focus on the present. Consequently, taking care to keep her tone even, she kept talking. ‘Okay. Thank you. I tell you what, why don’t we sit on the sofa and have a good cuddle while I do?’

Grace giggled at that, which was unexpected. ‘Yes please. But not a cuddle, a _cwtch_.’

She allowed herself to laugh along; and to catch Delia’s eye to exchange a grateful smile for the help provided by some Welsh. ‘Sorry. Of course. A _cwtch_.’

When she repeated the word, she gave a tiny nod, and then her smile grew into a grin as the brunette picked up on the subtle signal to join in with the conversation. ‘That sounds like a very good idea to me, _bach_. Maybe your Mum and I can sit on either side of you and make a Gracie sandwich, hmmm?’

Hearing her daughter squeal in delighted anticipation, and watching as Delia swooped her onto her shoulders like she was a much younger girl, Patsy felt her heart soar for a second. Then she followed them through to the sitting room, flopped into her gap on the sofa, and (once the Gracie sandwich was complete), found the strength to pull the card out of the envelope. It was a stereotypical glittery monstrosity, which would probably have put Grace off by itself. But, as her daughter had braved the inside, she figured it was her duty as a mother to do the same. So she opened it…and read it:

_Dear Gracie,_

_I’m so sorry I’ve cancelled this weekend. This card is to say I can't see you for a while. I’m sorry about that too. But I want you to know you’re in my dreams, and I’ll have Pokémon cards to give you when we next visit to make up for it._

_Luv’n’hugs, Daddy xxxx_

_P.S. Tell your Mummy: if she can play card games so can I_

Biting her lip to stop a groan – or _worse_ – she instead expressed her outrage by surreptitiously pinching the bridge of her nose. But she must’ve pinched harder than she meant to, because she yelped involuntarily, ‘Ow!’

Which ruined the effect.

‘Mum?’

Turning her head, she saw Grace was staring at her, frowning. ‘Sorry, sweetheart – I’ve got a silly papercut.’

‘Oh.’ Initially the young girl seemed unconvinced, and she held her breath, but then Grace said brightly, ‘So the card hurt you, too.’

At least she could answer that honestly. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

And she had a reply ready for that, as well. ‘Nope. It’s not your fault. You’re welcome to help me choose a plaster in a bit, if you want, but I’ll be okay. And so will you. Because your Dad didn’t say he doesn’t want to see you. He said he _can’t_. And that’s different.’

She knew she was grasping at straws there – because, especially in Rob’s case, there was likely no difference whatsoever – but her kid was already coping with so much thanks to him.

‘But _why_? He’s a grownup. There’s no one telling him what he can and can’t do.’

She sighed inwardly. As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise (to teach her daughter that adulthood actually came with a great deal of responsibility), it was certainly true that Rob took orders from no one but himself. Unfortunately having to cope seemed to have _also_ made Grace worldly-wise. Or at the very least older than she should be.

Like mother, like daughter, then, she thought tiredly.

But she verbalised nothing. Despite the fact that _Delia_ would be able to read what was on her mind, she didn’t want Grace to latch onto any negative narratives about her father. Rob might not be making an effort to keep things clean and kind any more, but _she_ was still determined to try her best.

Even almost nine years later.

So, wrapping her arm around the small shoulders next to her that she could see were trying not to shake (and using the shift in position as a chance to pass the card to Delia), she stuck to the basics. ‘Sometimes even when we really want to do something we can’t. No matter how old we are. Remember how he’s moving out of Nan and Pop’s?’

Grace huffed. ‘Yes.’

She snuggled in closer, running a hand through her daughter’s hair, and went on, ‘Well, that’s because he wants you to have a proper bed to sleep in instead of “kipping on the sitting room floor”.’

If her arms hadn’t been occupied by giving comfort, she might’ve drawn speech marks in the air when she said that last part. She hoped it’d coax out a giggle either way. But Grace just huffed again – and pulled away. ‘It _isn’t_. It’s because he’s fallen out with Pop.’

She sighed again – outwardly – and heard Delia gasp, presumably having got to the end of the card. But, after a quick glance at her girlfriend, she needed to address her daughter’s answer. ‘I know, darling, but he’s wanted his own place for a long time. For you. And now he’s going to find it. He’s looking at flats this weekend.’

Grace might’ve been in a mood, but the sarcastic laugh she barked out was very unlike her. ‘No he’s not. He’s moving in with Alfie.’

It was now her turn to gasp, although she cut it off as quickly as possible, and kept her question calm. ‘Uncle Roger’s Alfie?’

‘We don’t know any other Alfie,’ Grace said, giggling normally.

She found a way to laugh too. ‘I guess we don’t,’ she agreed, trying to have charitable thoughts about Rob’s nephew. He was a nice kid (not that he was really a kid any more, at twenty-five), and had always been good with Grace. But, because he wasn’t really a kid any more, he and Rob spent much more time watching footie down the pub than she’d like. Or on the computer. So the news that they’d be living together wasn’t ideal. Nor was the fact that she’d only just found out. Or that she’d heard it from Grace. But it’d be wrong to punish her daughter for passing on a message. ‘When’d he tell you that?’

‘Two weekends ago. He told me not to tell you, ‘cause you might not let me stay this weekend.’

She hummed noncommittally. ‘I wouldn’t let you stay anywhere if I didn’t know beforehand.’

Grace giggled again, and she was amused that it was _that_ overprotective response that made her move back in for a hug. ‘I know. That’s silly, though. You wouldn’t know to stop me. But Dad’s silly too – why did he tell me not to say anything if he was going to cancel anyway?’

She shook her head, empathising with the confusion. ‘Maybe he thought he’d get brave enough to ask, and then bottled it. Because he knows he should be looking at flats. For you.’

She thought this would be reassuring, but Grace said grumpily, ‘I don’t care about a bed. I sleep fine on the floor at Nan and Pop’s already. And we have fun when we go to Alfie’s for the day. He’s got Cartoon Network and lets me watch _Dragon Ball Z_ repeats.’

She sighed, amazed she’d got any breath left to make the sound. ‘You know how I feel about screen time when you’re with your Dad.’

There was a snort against her chest. ‘You use the computer loads when I’m not here.’

That was a new angle on the argument. ‘What do you mean? I’m either on shift or asleep, sweetheart, I barely have time to check emails when I get in.’

She wasn’t sure if that’d be accepted, but it was. ‘Oh. Sorry. Dad said you play card games and I didn’t think he meant bridge, so I thought it might be that FreeCell Soli – soli…’

She had to work so hard not to look at Delia, terrified they’d both collapse laughing, that she almost didn’t notice Grace trailing off as she tried to pronounce the name. But hearing the half-word pleased her, because it gave her an easy escape from a chat they’d have at some stage but she was _nowhere_ _near_ prepared for _that_ _afternoon_. ‘Solitaire?’ That got a nod. ‘Yes, well, I play one game every now and then to relax, but I’m allowed, because I have the same name.’ That revelation was met with wide eyes, so she matched her tone to the suspense on her daughter’s face. ‘Solitaire is the North American name. In the UK, and Europe, we call it Patience.’

‘That’s so _cool_! Will you teach me? Please, Mum? I want to show Sasha at school and tell her you’ve got a card game named after you.’

She didn’t want to dampen the enthusiasm, especially after the day they’d had, but she felt she should correct the grand idea. ‘I don’t think it’s named after me, unfortunately. It’s been played since at least the nineteenth century, and I’m old, but I’m not _that_ old.’

Grace giggled at the explanation, so apparently she didn’t mind too much. ‘No. You’re only forty-two.’

‘I am indeed,’ she replied, her voice lofty, ‘the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.’

‘What?’ her daughter asked in an awed whisper.

That seemed to prompt Delia to interject. ‘Oh, _bach_ , we _also_ need to teach you about a book called _The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. I’d say you’re very nearly the right age to read it with someone else, and if you like _Dragon Ball Z_ –’

Grace jumped in, clearly keen. ‘When Dad and I go to the library I can –’ Then she broke off, and her lip dropped. ‘Oh. I can’t.’

Patsy was at a loss, but thankfully Delia said smoothly, ‘I’m back on days next week, and I’ve got this Saturday off. I’ll take you. You’ll need some more _Baby-Sitters Club_ , too, right?’

She let herself look at her lover then, overwhelmed again with gratitude. But when her daughter didn’t respond, confusion crept back in. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Gracie?’ she encouraged.

‘No thank you.’

The change in atmosphere was so abrupt she could only think she’d imagined the cosy family bubble from a few seconds before. And she could only open and close her mouth, feeling as though she’d been whacked in the chest.

But Delia came to the rescue – as she’d done so often over the past year. ‘I know you’ll miss your Tad, _cariad_ , but it doesn’t mean you have to miss out on everything you were planning.’

‘Deels is right, Gracie –’

She tried to offer backup, but her daughter hardly gave her a chance to get in, spitting, ‘I don’t want to go with _you_. You’re not one of my parents!’

After that she was anything _but_ speechless. ‘Grace Charlotte Davis,’ she hissed, horrified. ‘You do _not_ use that tone, or that attitude, with anyone. I’ve a mind to send you –’

But she was cut off by the ten-year-old getting up and saying, through fresh tears, ‘I’m going anyway.’

She was quiet as the girl ran to her room, stomping extra loudly up the stairs; silenced not so much by the behaviour as by her total inability to prevent the situation from escalating. And to stop Delia from being hurt. That was just as important as protecting Grace. But she was aware berating herself would be no help to any of them, so she forcibly shook away the self-doubt and, turning to the Welshwoman, mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

Brown hair shook as her petite partner schooched along the sofa and pulled her in for a _cwtch_. ‘She’s upset. And it’s true. I’m not one of her parents and, right now, that sucks.’

She was unconvinced. ‘She still shouldn’t’ve said it.’

Delia shrugged. ‘We all say things we shouldn’t. And she can’t say what she wants to say to Rob, so that anger’s gonna come out somewhere. I can cope. I’m what she would call “a grownup” after all.’

‘You’re very generous,’ she said with a wry chuckle, ‘particularly when her crying was what woke you up.’

‘I know how important it is to be allowed to push boundaries,’ Delia replied. ‘ _You_ know what my Mam’s like – so desperate for people to think our family’s perfect that she treats the tiniest disagreement like a personal attack. That wasn’t a healthy environment growing up, and Grace’s had a hard time this week. She doesn’t need me to add to it. If I’m an easy target at the moment, I can take it.’

She chuckled again, in disbelief. ‘Where’d I find you?’

‘Nonnatus Clinic. Not the most romantic of places, I know.’

She waved her hand, saying nonchalantly, ‘I’ve never been one for great shows of sentiment or emotion,’ before growing serious as she added, ‘but I _am_ one for apologies. And I’m so sorry about this evening. Grace will be too –’

Delia nodded, then took her hand, and squeezed it. ‘I know you are. And she’s probably already going over and over it in her head, poor kid. It’s okay. It’s my turn for homework duty tonight, anyway, so I’ll check in on her.’ There was a pause, so Patsy waited, apprehensive until dimples popped up as her girlfriend grinned. ‘On condition you use the privacy to call Rob. _Card games._ What the actual –’

Having successfully avoided swearing herself, she wasn’t risking the possibility that Grace might choose that moment to come downstairs and overhear anything by accident. Not because she was bothered about her _knowing_ the word – or even, actually, hearing it used in relation to her father – but she didn’t want to give _him_ ammunition of even the vaguest sort. So she leant over and cut off the last word by pressing a soft kiss to the smaller woman’s lips. Then, returning her smile, she breathed, ‘Don’t you worry, I will.’

Delia nodded again, nuzzling her cheek with her nose. ‘I’m proud of you for being so calm, Pats.’

She grimaced. ‘I don’t deserve that at all, Deels.’

‘Yeah you do,’ the brunette said seriously, though her blue eyes were bright with mischief. ‘I’d’ve been on the phone the second she started crying, telling him where to stick that card. But you put Gracie’s feelings first. You’re such a good Mam.’

She laughed hollowly, but then had a thought, and replied sincerely, ‘If anyone’s a good Mam around here, it’s you. She really likes you. And she really didn’t mean it.’

Delia gave her hand a second squeeze. ‘I know. I’ll go see her now. And I’ll be here when you’re done giving Rob hell. I don’t have to leave ‘til six.’

Then she got up, and Patsy followed suit, walking over to the telephone. Dialling her ex-husband’s number, she waited…

…and waited…

…and waited.

Then tried again…and waited again.

Eventually, swearing several times under her breath, she put the landline down and patted her pockets to find her mobile. She punched out a text on the keypad, venting some of her frustration:

_Rob. Pick up pls. U send loaded msgs thru our daughter n now u wont even answer the fone, u coward. N yh Im usin txt tlk, u r only worth 10p_

She wasn’t impressed with the bitterness in the last bit, but it was the truth – and she hoped it’d get her point across.

It must’ve done, because soon the ridiculous Nokia ringtone made such a loud noise that she nearly dropped the phone. It was a good job they were such bricks, she observed as she answered, keeping quiet and deciding to let him start things off.

‘Patience,’ she heard after a pause.

‘Robin. So kind of you to call.’ She refused to rise to his use of her full first name, and kept her tone civil but curt.

‘Don’t be like that, I didn’t recognise the other number, didn’t know it was you.’

She rolled her eyes, not caring that he couldn’t see. ‘Oh please. It’s the house phone.’

He laughed – _laughed_ – and she wrenched the mobile from her ear when the sound made her jump, even though it was gentle. ‘If you were using that I must be worth more than 10p.’

‘My package doesn’t work like that,’ she shot back, cursing her own need to be pedantic.

He laughed again. ‘If you say so. Your father thought I was, anyway.’

She bit her lip to hold back the instinctive “How _dare_ you!”, instead opting for something subtler but hopefully equally emphatic. ‘He didn’t want me to be alone. That went well, didn’t it?’ Then, snatching a quick breath, she went on. ‘But this isn’t about me. What exactly do you think you’re playing at, sending Gracie such an inappropriate card?’

He hummed. ‘Surprised you didn’t vet it before she could see it. That bit wasn’t for her. Not really.’

The obviousness of the statement made _her_ laugh, though she held the phone away again so he wouldn’t hear, then deadpanned, ‘I gathered. But you shouldn’t’ve put it in. She’s ten. I respect her privacy. I only read it at all because she was so upset. She thinks you don’t want to see her.’

She said that to give him an option to insist it wasn’t true, but he didn’t, and just responded, seeming sadder than usual, ‘I can’t.’

‘So you’ve said. And why is that?’ she asked archly. ‘Too busy having nonstop FIFA Tournaments with your nephew from now on?’

She swore she heard him gasp. ‘She told you?’

She held back a scoff, and murmured matter-of-factly, ‘Of course. Why, weren’t you gonna mention it at some point?’

‘I thought you’d have a go.’

She laughed again, and let him hear. ‘You got that right at least. But I only want her to be safe. I’ve got no problem with Alfie – she looks up to him. But I _do_ have a problem with you going behind my back. You were gonna look at flats to rent.’

‘I _can’t_. You know my Dad’s turfing me out.’

She was bemused. ‘Yeah, so you need to find somewhere long-term.’

‘But I can’t afford anywhere.’

She sighed, and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose for grounding, although much more gently than earlier that evening. ‘There’s always a job for you with _my_ Dad’s company. He promised you that, and I said I’d honour it, even after everything.’

She thought that was a pertinent suggestion and he’d take it positively, but the sarcasm in his reply reminded her of her daughter’s. ‘You want me to up sticks to Hong Kong so I’m _further_ away from Gracie?’

She swallowed a groan at the misunderstanding. It was probably a deliberate ploy to rile her up and he didn’t deserve the satisfaction. ‘I mean here. Not that you’re making an effort with contact anyway. But I’d remind you _we_ moved to _England_ because it was what _you_ wanted.’

He chuckled, sounding impressed by her retort. ‘You were swept up in the idea at the time.’

His phrasing made her chuckle too. ‘I was swept up in the idea of _you_. I was about to lose what was left of my family. I needed something – _someone_ – to hang onto. I now know that wasn’t a reason to get married. I think we both do. But back then – well – you were a Robin who’d fly me away from the grief.’

‘“The Dickon to my Mary Lennox” was how you put it.’

He was whispering, but she could hear the nostalgia in his voice, and it was catching. ‘I did. I felt so safe with you. Then you gave me Gracie –’ She broke off, their daughter’s name bringing her back to the current moment by evoking both her past and her present. And her _sister_. ‘But you told me you’d never leave, and you did, and now you want to leave her too.’

She regretted the rest of what she said immediately, because it was so raw and honest, but there was no time to retract it, and he tutted. ‘Don’t overdramatise, Patsy. I just can’t see her right now, but I’m not leaving her, and she knows that.’

Her eyes widened at his obliviousness. ‘She doesn’t. If she did, she wouldn’t’ve had a meltdown after school. I already told you she thinks you _don’t want_ to see her.’

‘Well you should’ve told _her_ it’s different.’ 

She sighed, any sign of a truce she might’ve thought they’d reached disappearing rapidly with the implication that everything was her job, but still responded relatively calmly. ‘I did. But when you’re ten, they sound the same.’

Believe me, I know, she added in her head.

But apparently he wasn’t listening, even to the words she spoke. ‘That’s ridiculous. I promised her Pokémon cards.’

That was the last straw. ‘You’re as bad as my Dad! She doesn’t need _presents_ , she needs _you_!’

He at least had the decency to sound taken aback. Well, at first. ‘But she doesn’t. She’s got you.’ Then he paused, and she braced herself when his tone changed. ‘And your…bridge partner. Besides, I thought you approved of card games.’

She didn’t have the energy for that as well. The message was bad enough. So she kept things simple. ‘Her name is Delia. You know that. And we met when I started working at Nonnatus. Which you also know. Then I invited her to my bridge club when my old partner, Jenny, was moving away. It really was just bridge at the beginning.’

She was wary about the end of the final sentence, but what he said next showed her _he_ was still stuck on the “bridge” part. ‘You mean you actually _play_?’

She rolled her eyes, weirdly relieved to discover he hadn’t known and wasn’t perhaps quite as much of a shameless stirrer as she’d begun to believe. ‘Of course we do. I’ve _often_ told you how much of a support my friends have been as Gracie’s grown up, especially while I couldn’t work. A lot of them are from bridge. And a lot of the _bridge_ lot are women who like women. They were my rocks when things were rough…and when I started realising –’ She cut herself off, blushing, and was _glad_ he couldn’t see that. But she knew she needed to be brave and finish what she’d started, whether she’d meant to or not. So she went on. ‘When Delia and I met it just made sense. In every way. And yeah we might’ve used “card games” as a convenient code around Grace, but that’s just so she doesn’t get overwhelmed before she’s ready. As I keep reminding you, she’s _ten_. I’d like to let her learn things at her own pace.’

He stayed quiet for a while after her speech, and she was nervous, although she hoped it meant it’d had an impact. So, exercising the patience intrinsic to her name if not her nature, she didn’t fill the silence. And she heard him sigh. ‘I’ve made a right pig’s ear of things with that card, haven’t I?’

In an attempt to be sensitive she stopped herself laughing, but said, ‘To put it mildly.’

‘What can I do?’

She was nonplussed by such a straightforward question. It wasn’t his style in the slightest. But it gave her an opportunity to be straightforward in return. ‘Sort yourself out. Practically, but emotionally too. I know that’s rich coming from me, but being a single mother for eight-and-a-half years has shifted my perspective massively. And I get why you’re moving to Alfie’s for now, but you’re nearly fifty, Rob. He’s closer to Gracie’s age than yours!’

He chuckled ruefully. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

‘No, I bet you hadn’t,’ she snapped, and then wished she could swallow her words. They could easily undermine her point.

And he bristled. ‘Not all of us overthink everything, Patsy.’

‘Some of us don’t have a choice.’ She sighed, knowing her therapist would disagree, but too drained to care. And too _done_ with the day to give any more of her time to _anyone_ other than Grace and Delia. So forced herself to go on, and hold out the proverbial olive branch, albeit a flimsy specimen. ‘Look, you don’t owe _me_ anything. But you do need to do better by our kid. So let me know when you have the capacity to be there for her. Okay? That’s all I ask. And it’s all I’ve got left to say tonight. Because _I_ need to be there for her by making dinner. Understood?’

It wasn’t really a question, but she supposed she should extend the courtesy. Thankfully he took the hint, just repeating, ‘Understood.’

Satisfied, she hung up. But before heading to the kitchen, as she’d intimated she would, she instead headed upstairs, wondering what she might find. Everything was quiet, so she had no noise cues to go off, and that was almost worse than overhearing a row between the two people she wasn’t afraid to admit she loved most in the world. But, when she tentatively tiptoed to the door of Grace’s room, all her worries melted away.

Because her daughter and her girlfriend were curled up on the single bed, fast asleep, with their arms around each other’s waists. And it might just have been the cutest sight she’d ever laid eyes on.

The only shame was having to wake Delia up – again – for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this ages ago, and wasn't planning to post yet. But MystWords and Echo7 have encouraged me, and apparently it's Card Playing Day today. So... here goes. Shared in solidarity with all who have, or grew up with, complicated family relationships <3


	2. Toast, Tamagotchis, and Teacher-Parent Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Patsy's forty-third birthday. Things don't go entirely to plan (as per).
> 
> Featuring whiny dads and staunchly supportive teachers - and Deels being, well, Deels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After people's unexpected loveliness about the first chapter, here's the second installment of this story that's a little different to my usual writing but very close to my heart. (So much so that I'm actually bothering with chapter titles!) It took me a while to edit the ending to a tone I was properly happy with. Huge thanks to Jojo_Is_A_Hedgehog and Mystwords for their encouragement, especially around British primary school dynamics at the time.
> 
> Note for a (child-friendly and gentle) discussion of Section 28 and related attitudes, loosely based on my own experience.

‘“She doesn’t want to see you?”’

Before beginning to write in the card in front of her, Patsy repeated her daughter’s dictation, with an upward inflection on the final word to highlight her uncertainty over the phrasing. Even as the young girl’s green eyes regarded her steadily from the opposite corner of the kitchen table.

‘Yes,’ Grace said stubbornly – and the combination of her vocal and facial expressions made her mother’s heart clench at the sudden, and inescapable, reminder of Rob.

But it told her to tread carefully, and clarify a second time. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want me to say, darling?’ As she’d thought might happen, Grace shook her head. So she nodded in return. ‘Okay. What would you like me to say instead?’

The young girl tapped her own pencil against her lips as she considered, occasionally looking down to the (homemade) card in front of her, on which she’d clearly much prefer to be focusing. After a moment, though, she dropped the pencil on the wooden tabletop and said, slowly, ‘“If you can’t see Grace right now, you have to let her make the next plan, because she doesn’t want to see you before she’s ready. It’s too hard when things keep changing.”’

Patsy nodded again, but put down her pen, and reached across the table to grasp the ten-year-old’s slender and slightly shaky hand. Giving it a gentle yet firm squeeze, she replied, ‘That’s very honest. And completely okay. I’m proud of you, Gracie.’

Her daughter giggled, blushing and looking away shyly, and when she spoke Patsy was reminded of herself rather than Rob. ‘I don’t like feelings. They’re annoying.’

She wanted to respond, but observed Delia’s eyes sparkling with a tender mischief next to Grace, so unclasped their hands and let her petite partner take the reins of the conversation for a moment. ‘I can’t argue with that, _cariad_ , but it is important to express them. When you feel comfortable and safe enough.’

The Welshwoman seemed wary after that, as though wondering if she’d gone too far, so Patsy grinned and offered a quick nod in gratitude. But she was once again prevented from speaking, as Grace answered, ‘Not now. Now I need to write the inside of my card for Aunty Phyllis.’

‘All right, darling,’ her mother allowed, grinning wider at the memory of their otherwise frosty colleague being completely disarmed by Grace on the first day she’d taken her into Nonnatus for a visit – and at the fact they’d doted on each other ever since. ‘But try and keep it short. You still need some toast before school.’

That last bit was greeted with an eyeroll and a pout. ‘Don’t want to eat.’

Deciding to ignore the attitude, she kept things simple. ‘Breakfast is important. You need energy for thinking.’

‘You haven’t had any, and you’re going to work. It’s your birthday and you wouldn’t even let me and Deels bring you breakfast in bed,’ Grace retorted, green eyes staring her down again.

It wasn’t plausible to argue against that logic, so (neither keen to discuss why _she_ still found food so difficult in the mornings at the age of forty-three, nor to foster related anxiety in her child) she opted for diplomacy instead. ‘You’re right. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Strawberry-blonde hair bounced as Grace nodded, laughing, and she was relieved to have made the right choice of tone.

Stealing a glance at Delia, who was very deliberately pokerfaced, she did her best to look sheepish as she said, ‘Well then, how’s about I pop some crumpets in the toaster for all of us? That should give you enough time to finish your card.’

Her daughter squealed, and she watched as her girlfriend broke into a grin, endorsing the suggestion. ‘Oh yes, Pats. But I’ll put them in. It’s the least I can do today, isn’t it, Gracie?’

Green eyes sparkled as the young girl replied, solemnly, ‘It is, Co-Mam.’

Delia’s grin turned into a delighted giggle at the reappearance of her relatively new title. It’d emerged the evening after the tears about Rob’s card, and its usage seemed to be becoming steadily more regular. Patsy wasn’t entirely sure they (no, _she_ , as Grace’s mother) ought to be encouraging it, in case he took offence. Or worse. But it was so adorable she didn’t have the heart to stop it. No – she didn’t _want_ to. And _he_ didn’t really get a say any more.

So she just laughed, too, and (aware the smaller woman had to walk past her to get to the toaster) stretched out a hand in invitation. When Delia took it, she smiled, declaring, ‘You two are the best birthday presents I could ask for. Come round here, if you want, Gracie, so we can have a group _cwtch_. And then you can sit on my lap to write. If you’d fancy that.’

Patsy knew what the answer would be – while Grace generally disliked hugs, she (and, more recently, Delia) were rare exceptions to that rule. But it was vital that the importance of giving and asking for consent was instilled at every opportunity. If there was one thing she valued most having learnt from the queer community that’d embraced them both when Grace was barely a toddler, it was that. So she just pushed her chair back a bit in anticipation, feeling thrilled when her daughter bounced up and raced around the table, card and pencil in hand. Then, pointy ends and spiky edges deposited at a safe distance, Patsy laughed again as she was descended on for the requested _cwtch_.

Eventually Delia disentangled herself from the mass of limbs, ambling first to the fridge and then to the toaster to sort the crumpets, so Patsy helped Grace to settle properly on her lap and find a position that was comfortable for them both. Kissing the back of her daughter’s head, as the young girl returned her focus to the card, she sat in silent contentment for a few seconds, until her attention was required. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘How you spell sk – what’s wrong with Aunty Phyllis’ back?’

She smiled into Grace’s curls. ‘Sciatica. S-c-i-a-t-i-c-a.’ The help was followed by more silence, except for the scratch of pencil lead, after which Grace held up the card for inspection. ‘Yes. That’s right. And this is very thoughtful of you. I’m sorry you can’t spend tonight with her.’ She tried to keep her voice even as she said that last sentence, since her annoyance was not at Grace (or Phyllis, actually, since these things couldn’t be predicted). It was at Rob for bailing – and _failing_ – completely when it came to contact.

But, as was often the case, her daughter seemed much more magnanimous about it all. (Ironically, because she probably didn’t even know that word yet.) ‘It’s okay. I get a sleepover with Sasha. I’m gonna teach her to play Patience, and we’re gonna look after our Tamagotchis together.’

At that point, Patsy registered the presence of the egg-shaped electronic device on the other side of the table, and bit back a sigh, along with a query about whether that was the correct plural. ‘You mustn’t look at them in lessons, though, remember?’

‘ _Mu-um_!’ came the whining singsong reply. ‘You’re so _boring_. You say that every day. I _know_. I _like_ learning. I don’t want to be distracted.’

She chuckled, musing that she’d probably never tire of being addressed like that. Even (good-natured) frustration was cute. She’d also never get over her joy at evidence that her own studiousness had clearly been passed down to her daughter. But all she said aloud at first was, ‘Okay, okay. I trust you.’ After a pause, she added pensively, ‘And Phyllis will love her card as much as _I_ love the one you made me for my birthday.’

The verbal affirmation made the ten-year-old move so they could see each other, and stretch to press a kiss to her cheek. She grinned, returning the affectionate gesture, and pulled the girl closer to her chest so her head could rest on her shoulder. Then the crumpets popped, and they both jumped, giggling as they leapt into action to get breakfast out of the way – and _Grace_ out of the _door_ to school, overnight bag and Tamagotchi in tow.

Patsy and Delia were in far less of a rush, having both been given evening shifts. So, once they’d done the drop off, they walked back to the house; where her girlfriend gave her the _extremely_ generous gift of free rein to clean and tidy the lounge, the bathroom and their bedroom (on condition the _Welshwoman_ was granted free rein in the _kitchen_ , at least for a few hours). Consequently, the quiet was so consistent – the occasional muffled clatter of crockery from the kitchen notwithstanding – that Patsy lulled herself into a pleasant (almost hypnotic) state as she went through the housework.

One that remained undisturbed until the doorbell rang unexpectedly at what her trusty fob watch told her was a quarter to one. Confused, she called through to the kitchen. ‘Deels? Are you expecting a delivery?’

‘No, _cariad_ , it’s safe for you to get it. If you don’t mind?’

She giggled at the way that was phrased, shouting back as she walked, ‘Halfway there!’

But her humour vanished the moment she opened the door. ‘Rob!? What are you doing here?’

Her ex-husband shuffled his feet uneasily, evidently unable to meet her gaze (which, to be fair to him, felt like it was transforming from astonishment to outrage very quickly indeed). ‘Picking Gracie up,’ he mumbled.

‘Sorry?’ She’d heard him, of course she had, but she needed clarification.

‘Picking Gracie up,’ he repeated. Then he chuckled awkwardly, and their eyes met at last. ‘Well, her overnight bag. Obviously I’ll fetch her from school when she’s done for the day. I’m happy to pootle around the park for a bit first. I said I’d have her tonight.’

By that point, she was beginning to think she _had_ actually hypnotised herself cleaning. But she needed to respond somehow, so managed three disjointed sentences. ‘You did, yeah. Before Christmas. But then you said you couldn’t see her.’

He bristled at that, and his voice matched the scowl on his face. ‘Yeah well you told me to do better. So I’m here.’

She figured she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable either, and permitted herself an equally snappy answer. ‘Some warning would’ve been nice!’

His tone changed again after that, and he sounded hard done by. ‘I can’t win!’

She had no patience for his self-pity, and was so rattled by him even being there at all that she shot back a single, unpunctuated, statement. ‘Oh I’m sorry I’m annoyed about you arriving unannounced on our doorstep after three weeks of radio silence.’ Then, snatching a breath, she added, ‘It’s my birthday! And I’m working.’

For some unfathomable reason, that caused him to smile almost triumphantly. ‘Exactly. I thought I’d give you the chance for a card game or two when you get in after your shift.’

She was stunned by the audacity of the insinuation, and could only stare at him in open-mouthed fury for close to a minute. In that time, she heard footsteps behind her in the hallway, suggesting that Delia had overheard at least some of the commotion and come to investigate. Then a Welsh lilt confirmed her suspicions. ‘Is everything okay, Pats, love? Oh –’

She bit her lip to hold back a bark of laughter. ‘”Oh,” indeed. We appear to have company.’ She wouldn’t ordinarily stoop to his level, but the impudence of his last remark rankled. Besides, he barely deserved the time of day. So, electing not to offer it to him, she cut to the chase. ‘Look, Rob. Gracie’s busy tonight. We made other plans, because we had to, and she’s going home from school with Sasha.’

She saw him visibly deflate, then take a deep breath, before starting what turned out to be a speech of his own. ‘I’m renting a place. It’s not a flat, just a room, so it’ll only work while she’s still quite young. But Gracie can have my bed when she visits. I’ll sleep on the floor. And I’ve spent ages stuck in traffic on the M25 to get here. That’s why I’m earlier than I usually am when I pick her up. I didn’t want to risk being late. I borrowed Alfie’s car and everything, because I thought you wouldn’t want her on the train if she’s tired after school. It’s different from a weekend.’

She was half _impressed_ that he’d shown some _initiative_ for once, and half _irritated_ that he still seemed to think the entire situation revolved around him. As the irritation was the stronger of the two emotions, she expressed that. Albeit attempting to mute it slightly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve gone to all this effort for nothing. At least right away. But the thing is, you haven’t so much as _texted_ since we had our last conversation. So you can’t expect me – or, more importantly, _Grace_ – just to say “how high” when _you_ say jump. Regardless, if you _had_ texted, I’d’ve told you not to come. Grace doesn’t want to see you right now. And I popped a card in the post this morning to let you know.’ She steeled herself not to smirk after that. She knew he wouldn’t need any encouragement for an outburst, but _he’d_ instigated the card exchange, so she sort of hoped he’d accept his comeuppance.

He didn’t.

‘ _You_ put her up to that,’ he snarled with a ferocity she could only describe as startling – and completely out of character. ‘You’re keeping us apart!’

Her eyes widened in shock at the accusation, and she felt Delia’s hand land protectively on her shoulder. Grounded by the contact, she didn’t lash out. Instead she drew a breath before speaking, and between each of the initial sentences, until she had a handle on herself. ‘I’m doing nothing of the sort. The opposite in fact. I actively encourage her to see you, and always will. You know _I_ know first-hand the damage that can be – _is_ – done by the sense of being abandoned by a parent. But I _also_ know first-hand the problems that can be caused by a parent _pushing_ for contact. Or plans being changed at the last minute. Or just – “just” – lack of effort. And I don’t want Grace to go through _any_ of those things. So, if she tells me it’s too difficult to be dealing with this stuff, I’ll respect that until she’s ready. I hope you can do the same. But I’m aware it’s a blow. Please know _I_ want to resolve this as soon, and as _smoothly_ , as possible.’

He still looked doubtful, and (understandably) disappointed, but he nodded. ‘I’d best get going then, eh?’ he asked, the rhetorical question imbued with resignation.

She nodded in return, thinking that brought an end to the discussion and they could all get on with their days. But then her phone rang in her pocket and, after scrambling to find it, she saw the call was from the school secretary. ‘Hello, Gina,’ she said breathlessly, trying to keep her voice neutral. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Grace is fine, Ms Mount, please don’t worry,’ came the reassuring answer, complete with the surname Patsy had never changed (and therefore had never had to change _back_ ). ‘It’s just something came up in the English lesson this morning, and Miss Whitmore would be grateful if you, and perhaps Ms Busby, could come in and discuss it. I’m conscious you have a shift soon, so she’s willing to make time over lunch, if that’s suitable?’

She did some quick mental arithmetic before replying in the affirmative. ‘Patsy, please. But of course. We can be there within fifteen minutes.’

‘Perfect. Thank you, Patsy, and see you shortly.’

She grinned at Gina’s genuine pleasure. They’d got on well since the day Grace started in the Nursery class so, when the older woman said she was fine, Patsy knew she could trust that. Then she registered that Delia had moved past her during the call, so was standing next to Rob, and both her girlfriend and her ex-husband wore a similarly concerned expression. ‘It’s okay. Gracie’s fine. There’s just some issue after English today, and Dorothy wants to talk it through. As you’re here, Rob, it probably makes sense for you to come.’

She wasn’t sure that offer was wise but, in the interest of putting her money where her mouth was as far as his involvement went, it felt worth it. And _he_ responded positively. ‘I’ll drive us. It’ll be quicker.’

Looking to Delia, who shrugged, Patsy nodded. ‘All right. I owe you petrol for your journey here anyway.’

After that, she and her girlfriend trooped back into the house to collect everything for their shift. (Patsy thought she’d be eternally grateful that they both habitually dressed in their uniforms on work days, no matter their start times.) Then, in a tangle similar to the _cwtch_ with Grace over breakfast, they shoved themselves into the back of the car, Patsy choosing to ignore the scowl of obvious displeasure when Rob realised she wouldn’t be sitting in the front next to him. When they arrived at the primary school, Patsy waved to Gina in her office, then led the way to the top floor to find 5W’s classroom.

Inside, Miss Whitmore and Grace were sitting at her set’s table, a lunchbox and exercise book open between them. But her daughter got up immediately to greet Patsy as she entered. ‘Mum!’ she said, stepping close enough that she could be pulled in for a hug.

‘Hello, love,’ she murmured into her hair. ‘You okay?’

‘I don’t know,’ the girl whispered back, ‘I might be in trouble.’

At that, she pulled away so they could have eye contact. ‘I don’t think that’s the case at all, darling?’ She framed it as a question to check in with Dorothy Whitmore via a raised eyebrow.

‘No, Grace,’ the young teacher reassured hurriedly. ‘You aren’t in trouble. I just want to show your mother the essay you wrote this morning, like I said.’

‘There, see?’ Patsy purred, flashing her daughter a comforting grin. ‘Please may I have a look at your exercise book?’

The ten-year-old nodded, although she still looked worried – but then the atmosphere changed completely as she registered who else was in the room. ‘Deels? And _Dad_!? What are _you_ doing here?’

Patsy couldn’t help chuckling. ‘That’s what _I_ asked him when he rang the doorbell.’ She paused, thinking belatedly that it was neither the time nor the place for such comments, and continued quickly. ‘But we can talk about that later. Right now we need to speak with Miss Whitmore. Okay?’

Grace nodded again, leading everyone to sit down; the adults perching uncomfortably on the small plastic chairs. While they waited obediently for the teacher to talk, Patsy mused on how (at least in theory) the roundness of the table removed a sense of hierarchy. That seemed particularly important in the current circumstances.

When Dorothy spoke, she exuded a calm confidence Patsy felt she hadn’t even come close to at her age. ‘Thank you all for coming. As Grace might have told you before, every week I try to give the class some time to free write around a word or topic. Today’s was “family” – and this is the essay you wrote, isn’t it?’

As the book was passed over, and the page pointed out, Patsy smiled in approval at the way Dorothy addressed Grace directly. But her attention was required for reading instead of speech, so she stayed silent, poring over her daughter’s handwriting:

_My family is the same and ~~diffr~~ different from other ~~peep~~ people’s. It’s the same ~~cos~~ because my Mum and Dad don’t live in the same house any more and a lot of my ~~fre~~ friends have families like that. It’s ~~diffr~~ different ~~cos~~ because my Mum has a ~~girlfrend~~ girlfriend. Her name’s Delia and she’s Welsh. She’s a midwife like Mum. Over the Christmas holidays she moved in with us but we’ve ~~nown~~ known her a lot longer than that. I like her living with us. She’s good at hugs and says Welsh ~~peep~~ people are the only ones who do them ~~proply~~ properly. I don’t think Mum agrees but it makes her giggle. And I like it when she’s happy. She’s a lovely Mum but she looked after me on her own for so long. I still see my Dad but not much. He left when I was little. It’s good Mum has help now. I call Delia my Co-Mam ~~cos~~ because she is. I love her and I love Mum and I love Dad. They are all part of my family._

Blinking back a tear when she finished the paragraph, Patsy cleared her throat as quietly as possible, wanting to hold off on feedback until the others reached the end. But then she was struck by where they were, and had a horrifying thought which meant she couldn’t _not_ say something. ‘Is this a problem because of Section 28?’ she queried, her words sounding more clipped than she’d have liked.

Dorothy shook her head. ‘No,’ she began, and Patsy exhaled, but the teacher was prevented from expanding on her answer because Grace interrupted.

‘What’s Section 28, Mum?’

She sighed. Part of her had wondered when the conversation would come up – but another part had (naïvely) hoped she might get away with avoiding it altogether. ‘It’s a law that stops the Local Authority –’ She paused, offering a quick explanation of that title with an addition, ‘Where Violet works – from promoting families like ours.’ She wasn’t satisfied that Grace would understand, but she was at a loss for how to put it better. And what she’d said so far would buy her time to think. Hopefully. Even if it only provoked another question.

Which it did. Two, in fact.

‘What does “promote” mean? You can’t get a better job at Nonnatus?’

Patsy held back a chuckle successfully that time, although she offered up private thanks to the saint in whom a fair few of her colleagues at the clinic put such faith – principally grateful for the help and humour children could bring to tricky situations. Then she explained, ‘No. In this sense it means “support” or “encourage”. Some people don’t think relationships like mine and Delia’s are good for society.’

Grace’s eyes got very wide. ‘But – but – you’re both midwives! And you were _nurses_ before,’ she stated, obviously very confused.

‘I know, _bach_ ,’ Delia put in, at a desperate nod from Patsy. ‘These people don’t think of it that way.’

‘Well they’re silly,’ the young girl muttered forcefully.

‘That they are, Gracie,’ Rob piped up, and Patsy found herself gaping at him in astonishment.

She recovered by directing an apology towards Dorothy. ‘Sorry, this must be awkward, I don’t expect you’re in a position to comment.’

The teacher’s reply was just as surprising. ‘It’s fine. Despite some members of the Parent-Staff Association trying to convince me, it doesn’t actually apply to schools. Believe me, I did my research when I knew Grace was going to be in my class this year. A lot of my colleagues are cautious, understandably, but the government was forced to clarify back in 1988. So, since we are a non-denominational school and strive to create an inclusive environment for _all_ our children, I consider it my duty to show that all _families_ are equal. I just wanted you to be aware in case there’s any teasing. I’ll address it if it comes up in class. Gently and appropriately, of course. But, as a single mother myself, I know kids can be just as cruel as they can be accepting. And I won’t always be around if there are things said at playtime. So I want _you_ to know you can talk to me, Gracie. Okay? Whenever necessary.’

Patsy grinned unreservedly watching _Grace_ smile at that. Her daughter nodded, mumbling, ‘Thank you, Miss,’ but then apparently found her voice by hiding behind her teacher’s last word. ‘Necessary,’ she repeated. ‘Never Eat Cake, Eat Salad Sandwiches, And Remain Young.’

Dorothy beamed. ‘Yes! Are the mnemonics helping you with spelling, then?’

‘A lot!’ Grace agreed. ‘But I think I need one for “friend”. I know harder words than that and I still get it wrong.’

Patsy saw the cogs turning in the younger woman’s brain, and decided she could help. ‘If I may?’ Dorothy nodded. ‘The one I used at school was “If you fri your friend, they come to an end.” What do you think of that, darling?’

The ten-year-old grimaced. ‘That’s really morbid, Mum. But “morbid” is one of my new favourite words from our spelling lists, so maybe that means I’ll remember it.’ She giggled. ‘I’d like to go and _find_ my friends now, though, if I’m allowed? Until the end of lunch?’

‘Of course, _cariad_ ,’ Delia interjected warmly, and Patsy observed her shooting a stern look in her direction as well as Rob’s. So she nodded, deciding talk of more private family dynamics could wait.

Rob, however, did not appear to be on the same page. ‘Before you go, Gracie –’ he started, and Patsy stifled a groan when the girl froze, along with another when he went on, oblivious. ‘I’ve found a place for us, if you want to stay tonight.’

Patsy said nothing, not wishing to be accused of exerting undue influence, and put on a neutral expression as Grace replied. ‘Sorry Dad. I’m going to Sasha’s. I’ve promised to teach her a _card game_ ,’ she said, emphasising the last phrase before slipping her lunchbox in her bag and skipping out into the hall.

He looked suitably bemused by that, so Patsy didn’t add to the layers of hurt. ‘I’ll have a word,’ she promised, getting up and ushering them out of the classroom, with a smile of gratitude to Dorothy. Only once it was just the three of them again did she add, ‘Grace’s too young to be vindictive. And she loves you, she said so in the essay,’ extending a conciliatory hand towards Rob.

He nodded, taking the hand and shaking it firmly. ‘It’s no more than I deserve,’ he admitted as he let go. ‘I’d best be off, so I don’t cause any further rifts. But I can drop you both at Nonnatus, if you like? And may I get you girls a birthday cake?’

 _She_ was bemused, then; and, in the momentary lull, Delia spoke up. ‘We don’t like cake.’

Patsy knew the assertion was categorically untrue and, recalling her earlier banishment from the kitchen, realised her girlfriend must be using the convenient metaphor as more than that – a euphemism. While she wanted to laugh, she _also_ wanted a lift to work (and, more importantly, to maintain a harmony of sorts for their daughter’s sake). So, under her breath, she cautioned, ‘Building bridges, Deels, building bridges,’ before moving to make a joke. ‘Quite – what was it Grace said for “necessary”?’

“Never Eat Cake, Eat Salad Sandwiches, And Remain Young”?’ Delia supplied, sounding somewhat nervous.

‘That’s it. As I’m inching ever closer to my mid-forties, I think Miss Whitmore might be on the right track,’ Patsy deadpanned, winking, and let herself laugh.

The other two followed suit, falteringly, but then their giggles bubbled over, the acoustics of the school assembly space causing them to echo around the hall.

And, just like that, their idiosyncratic family equilibrium was restored – for another day, at any rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inclusion of Miss Whitmore made a lot of sense to me when thinking about who should be in the teacher role. She's clearly an awesome teacher and deserved a better outcome than was possible/she was given in canon. Hopefully I did her justice. (Can you tell I get just as invested in the 'mother/child of the week' storylines as I do in the regular ensemble cast?)
> 
> The next - and last - chapter jumps forward, and so will the rating, moving to 'T' to reflect the fact Grace will be a teenager. Hopefully that's okay, and thanks again for reading so far. Stay well and safe!


	3. Teenagers, "The Talk", and Tentative Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's now February 2011.
> 
> Grace has come home from uni for Reading Week, after a visit with her dad. She's not feeling great about it. Patsy and Delia help her process with a cuppa and a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a new job this week (remotely), and that took a lot of my energy reserves for sharing things over the internet, so I had to take a break from posting. But here, at last, is the third and final chapter of this short story. 
> 
> Content note for the rating change to T, and an open (but not explicit) chat about sex and sexuality. Also involves discussion of periods, homophobia, biphobia and transphobia, bi erasure and trans erasure. Basically, Rob has been awful again, but Pats and Deels are both awesome in response, and embarrassing in their roles as Mum and Co-Mam.

‘I don’t want to see him!’

Patsy raised a brow at Delia as they heard that familiar voice, followed by the front door slamming (feeling as if the force made the sound reverberate right through to where they were sitting in the kitchen). Then the elder of the two women called out to Grace. ‘Welcome home, love. Guess you’ll want a cuppa? The kettle’s just boiled.’

Her younger partner got up, agreeing. ‘Yes, Gracie, _cariad_ – you’ll give me a reason to move. I got in from my shift and just flopped. We’ve barely been in the house at the same time lately, so you being here too feels like a convenient excuse to sit and chat.’

There was no answer for a few minutes, although they could hear shoes being kicked off, and slippered feet padding down the corridor towards them. Then, once the nineteen-year-old was in the room, she slung her backpack on one of the empty chairs. ‘Yes, please,’ she said, walking to Delia at the kitchen counter and dropping a kiss on her cheek, before sauntering over to Patsy, who was delighted when her daughter gestured questioningly for permission to collapse onto her lap. There was another pause as they got settled (positioning being rather more complicated now that they were of an equivalent height), but then Grace added, ‘I might need an extra sugar, though. And to join you for something stronger later.’

‘Oh dear,’ her mother purred sympathetically into her hair, even as she expressed delight in the fact they could now bond (responsibly) over their shared favourite tipple as well as a cup of tea. ‘Your Grandfather would be thrilled if he knew you’d learnt to appreciate a good Scotch. But this isn’t about _my_ Dad; it’s about yours. Dare I ask what he’s done now?’

Grace giggled, and Patsy chuckled too, hoping they’d both be soothed by the vibrations. Then the teenager sighed. ‘I want to say, “it’s more what _hasn’t_ he done”, but that’s almost as melodramatic as him. I’m just fed up. I used two days of only my _second_ _ever_ Reading Week to visit him and Nan, and now I feel like I never want to see him again.’

Patsy’s heart squeezed. Not just because of the conversation they were having, but because they were having it _again_ – and had had it so often over the course of Grace’s not quite two decades of life. The strain of that repetition (and the idea that her child must be feeling it too, but that there was little to nothing to be done about it) meant she couldn’t respond immediately.

Thankfully Delia had finished making the tea, and was apparently happy to take up the slack as Co-Mam. ‘Oh Gracie,’ she crooned, setting their mugs on the table and fetching her chair, presumably to be close enough to join in – almost – with the _cwtch_. ‘Tell me, _cariad_ , tell me what happened.’

That made the older woman bite her lip to stop a chuckle, although she did allow herself a smile at the thought that, perhaps, stock situations required stock phrases. And that one in particular had placated Grace for a very long while indeed whenever she needed persuading to talk. Her daughter didn’t laugh, however, so Patsy was glad to have practised restraint – and all the more so when Grace began to explain. ‘Well, to start with, I came on my period. I didn’t have any stuff with me, because I left it all here when I dropped my textbooks off on Friday, and it was super early and unexpected. So Dad had to get supplies, because I couldn’t go out, obviously. He spent the rest of the evening ranting about how I should know better if I grew up in a houseful of women, and how a man shouldn’t have to deal with this.’

Both Patsy and Delia groaned simultaneously, which led them all to giggle, and at last gave the eldest of the three the strength to speak. ‘I hope you put him right.’

The nineteen-year-old snorted. ‘I’m not sure that’s even possible these days, but I did my best. I probably should’ve been gentler about it though – I told him to stop being such a TERF.’

Delia barked out a laugh, and Patsy watched as her daughter and partner each raised a hand for a high-five (or something approximating one, given the awkward angle). _She_ felt rather out of the loop, though, so requested drily, ‘Please remind your fossil of a mother what’s meant by “TERF”?’

Grace’s initial reply was to turn her head and, rolling her eyes, press a quick kiss to Patsy’s nose. Then, with a tone that reminded the older woman very much of herself at the same age, she said, ‘You aren’t a fossil, Mum – it’s a relatively new term and has only properly caught on in internet activist circles so far. Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist. Or Radfem, if you want to shorten that too. I called Dad one because I think _he’d_ call _himself_ a feminist, but he was implying that only women have periods. And that isn’t true.’

‘No,’ Patsy agreed sincerely, ‘it isn’t. Besides, I obviously can’t speak for trans people, but, by another implication of Rob’s logic, now I’ve reached the menopause _I’m_ no longer a proper woman. Which,’ she went on after a pensive pause, ‘is probably consistent with patriarchal thinking, actually.’

Grace nodded, wincing visibly at the observation. ‘It is. Although, I learnt the phrase “kyriarchy” in a critical theory class earlier this term, and I prefer it. It encompasses more systems of oppression, and doesn’t centre any particular dominant group.’

‘ _Iesu Mawr, bach_ ,’ Delia put in then, pride evident in her tone. ‘I used to think your mnemonics were sophisticated as a kid, but that sentence was on a whole other level.’

That got a shy giggle, and Patsy smiled when her daughter hid her face against her chest, mumbling sheepishly, ‘Sorry, I’m such a nerd.’

‘Never apologise for that, darling,’ her mother whispered back. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve found your passion.’

Grace looked up warily. ‘You mean you really don’t mind that I picked English instead of training as a nurse?’

It was Patsy’s turn to kiss _her_ on the nose. ‘Nope. You’re clearly in your element, and that’s all I care about.’ She intended that to be a comfort, but she felt the teenager tense in her arms, so raised a quizzical brow. ‘What’s up?’

Strawberry-blonde hair tickled her face as Grace turned away again and heaved out a sigh. ‘The period thing wasn’t the only problem with Dad. I had to tell him off for being homophobic too. And, when I did, _he_ told me I couldn’t.’

Patsy was horrified, of course, but also very confused. ‘What? What made him think he gets away with it?’

‘His reasoning was as follows,’ her daughter started, tiredly, ‘“I’ve practically been best friends with my ex-wife’s lesbian lover for the past ten years”.’

Patsy’s jaw dropped – but Delia had a reply ready. ‘Cheek! Sure we’ve worked hard to like each other, but I wouldn’t go as far as “best friends”.’

Having gathered herself, once Grace had stopped shaking with laughter at the Welshwoman’s sardonic tone, Patsy felt able to contribute. ‘Plus he was obviously implying more about _my_ sexuality than yours, Deels, because that’s how he operates, but the implication is incorrect. I mean this in the nicest possible way, darling, but him saying “lesbian lover” is like when people use the term “lesbian sex”. It erases women-loving-women of other identities.’

‘I _know_!’ Grace squealed indignantly, briefly sounding much younger than nineteen, before she hid once again behind more academic language. ‘I informed him that it’s inappropriate to label anyone unless they use the label themselves, and also that a partner’s gender isn’t the indication of someone’s sexuality.’

‘ _Exactly_!’ Patsy managed not to mimic her daughter’s squeal, although she _was_ feeling very animated. ‘Just because I’m in a relationship with a woman does _not_ make me a lesbian.’

Delia just laughed, then drawled, ‘You sound like you’re that character in _Bend It Like Beckham_ , Pats.’

Grace howled at that, and they both stared at her. ‘Sorry,’ she panted, blushing. ‘It’s just, you mean Jules, right? “Mother! Just because I wear trackies and play sport _does not make_ me a lesbian?”’ Delia nodded, causing the teenager to collapse again. Eventually, though, they got a full explanation out of her. ‘That scene – and that film – was when a lot of queer women my age had their sexual awakening. So it didn’t really make the point it hoped to.’ She paused, and Patsy used the gap for a curious glance at her partner, the briefest of nods suggesting they were both wondering whether that might be a hint. But it was important to wait for Grace to raise it before jumping to any conclusions. So, when she began talking again, Patsy just listened. ‘Anyway, when I told Dad he shouldn’t label, he started singing this song he said is actually called “My White Bicycle” – but he changed the lyrics to “My Wife’s Bisexual”.’

Patsy huffed and rolled her eyes, thinking as she did so that possibly the only thing her current and former significant others had in common was a penchant for terrible puns – and that Delia’s taste in music far surpassed Rob’s. But she just said, ‘I’m not sure _that’s_ true either. After all these years, the only thing I’m certain of is that I love you, and I love Deels. At this late stage, my identity seems somewhat irrelevant; although I understand other people feel differently.’

She was rather concerned that her daughter and partner might consider themselves to be among those “other people”, despite their genuine openness and mutual disposition towards learning and growth, but it felt crucial to articulate her own ambivalence. And they answered with nothing but affirmation, chorusing, ‘And _we_ love _you_.’

Then Delia – her dearest, darling, ever-perceptive Deels – could obviously tell she was overwhelmed, because she diverted the conversation, if only slightly. ‘I’m intrigued, Gracie – what brought all of this up with Rob?’

Patsy was impressed by the prompt. It was kind, and phrased carefully, opening up an avenue for discussion without pressuring Grace to take it. Which was good, because all she managed was a skittish, ‘Um –’

So Patsy decided it was time to engage fully in “Mother Mode” (something she’d become almost as adept at as “Nurse Mode” over the past nineteen years). ‘Come on, you two, our cuppas are getting cold,’ she cut in, reaching around Grace to tap the side of her mug for emphasis as she continued. ‘Dunno about you, but I reckon this is turning into a “Gracie sandwich” sort of chat, hmmm? Shall we reconvene on the sofa?’

Both Grace and Delia laughed. Then, nodding, the teenager clambered off Patsy’s lap – and her mother watched as she almost automatically moved to pick up two of the three mugs to carry through to the front room. Patsy was proud until she realised Grace was likely using a strategy similar to her own and distracting herself with a practical task. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she got up too, taking Delia’s mug; and smiling tightly when the smaller woman grasped her free hand, seeming to notice her discomfort. However, as soon as they were all in their designated spots on the sofa, the atmosphere relaxed considerably. No doubt helped by the fact they were each holding their own mugs and taking great gulps of tea before it really did get too cold to drink. And the youngest of the group was apparently fortified by the beverage because, finishing it, she put the mug on one of the side tables. And it landed with a noticeable _thunk_ noise, which turned out to preface two short but significant sentences. ‘I’ve, um, met someone. And I think _I_ might be bi.’

Glancing at Delia, who was grinning in relief, Patsy supposed her facial expression must be comparable. But she _also_ supposed she ought to be the one to respond first. So she did. ‘Okay, darling. As _I_ got told, way back when, “Welcome to the family”.’

‘Really?’ Grace was staring at her in amazement. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘ _Mind_?’ she repeated, hopefully gently enough that her incredulity wouldn’t be read as dismissive or insensitive. ‘I’d be a first-class hypocrite if I did.’

Thankfully that addition proved to be the right one, since Grace giggled. ‘Okay. It’s just, I know you’re conflicted about labels, so I thought I should test it out with Dad first. But that didn’t work very well. It’s the reason I told him not to be homophobic. I didn’t think he’d know what _bi_ phobia meant, and I couldn’t be bothered to explain afterwards. Especially when he sang that song.’

Patsy sighed wearily, stretching to put her own mug down, and then said, ‘I don’t blame you. And I’m sorry he reacted that way. I’m also sorry if my confusion about myself has made you worry _I_ might not have reacted positively. Because, like I said about you choosing to read English –’

She broke off because Grace giggled again, interrupting, ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Mum.’

She laughed, accepting what was essentially a fact by that point. ‘Pardon me. Like I said about you choosing to _study_ English, all I care about is that you’re in your element. And, for that, you need to be comfortable in your _identity_. Whatever label you end up using.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

Her daughter sounded tearful, so she wrapped an arm around her shoulder, murmuring, ‘You don’t need to thank me – it’s really none of my business. Although I am invested in your happiness. So I should warn you, if it gets to the stage where you’re bringing them home, I’ll require a full profile and character reference…’ She trailed off as she heard what she was saying, then groaned, exclaiming, ‘Oh _no_! I’ve turned into Dad! I wasn’t even being _ironic_!’ She paused, as Grace and Delia fell about laughing, and whispered, blushing, ‘Sorry, love.’

‘S’okay,’ her daughter replied when she’d recovered from giggling, ‘I know you mean well.’

‘She does, _bach_ ,’ Delia agreed readily, although her eyes still glinted with mischief, as she blew a kiss that Patsy reflexively caught in her palm. Then, winking, the Welshwoman returned her attention to the matter at hand. ‘In all seriousness, Gracie, what’s this person’s name? Co-Mam isn’t quite as _patient_ as Mum.’

Patsy was amused to note that she and Grace performed a nearly identical eyeroll at the predictable pun. But she nevertheless deadpanned, ‘I didn’t mean I wasn’t _interested_. I just said it wasn’t really my business yet.’

The nineteen-year-old sighed, even as she grinned. ‘ _Honestly!_ Do you two _have_ to be such a double act?’

Delia hummed thoughtfully. ‘Let me just check…’ Patsy bit her lip as the smaller woman mimed scanning through some paperwork, then shouted triumphantly, ‘ _Yes_! Just as I thought – it’s written into our Civil Partnership.’

Grace huffed, though her mother (and, presumably, her _adoptive_ mother) could tell she was trying desperately not to laugh. Then the teenager tutted, saying theatrically, ‘God help me if Marriage Equality ever gets through. You’ll be _impossible_ when you properly get to be wife and wife.’

Not minding the friendly teasing one bit, Patsy turned the tables briefly. ‘You’ll be glad for your own sake, by the sounds of things,’ she replied with a smirk.

Grace went the most adorable shade of red. ‘We’ve haven’t even been out for _coffee_ alone yet. But _touché_.’

‘So…?’ Delia prompted again. ‘What’s their name?’

‘Anita,’ came the mumbled reply. ‘It’s similar to “Grace” in Hindi, and we got talking because neither of us feel we’ve lived up to our names. She’s lovely. She does English Lit with Creative Writing. We met when we had joint course socials last term, and we just clicked.’

Patsy beamed, thinking how much good conversation and a shared interest had meant in her own relationships, and that she was grateful Grace seemed to be taking that approach as well. Her nostalgia was quickly squashed by her nursing instinct, though, and she made a protective request (albeit one modified by support). ‘I’m so glad, love. But, if you’re happy to, while you’re home I’d appreciate you attending one of the sexual health sessions at Nonnatus. There’s at least three on this week, actually, because February Half Term and your Reading Week coincide.’

Grace leapt off the sofa, and Patsy pondered the fact that she didn’t think she’d ever seen her move so fast. ‘How on earth can _that_ be relevant? It’s not like we need contraception.’

Her mother sighed inwardly, realising that her (deliberately) general wording perhaps hadn’t been the right tack to take, and she was about to try again when Delia spoke up. ‘No, _cariad_ , you don’t. You’re lucky not to have _that_ particular risk to factor in while you’re nineteen or twenty and you simply can’t help yourselves. But the Pill isn’t just for that, as you know. It can be helpful for regulating periods, which you might be keen on after… well, after your unpleasant surprise this weekend, aside from anything else.’

Patsy regarded her partner in awe, suddenly overcome with a wistfulness that _they_ hadn’t met at the age Delia mentioned. But she shook herself – because the discussion wasn’t about them. And, yet again, the Welshwoman had granted her an opportunity to take up the thread.

Which she did, after rubbing her slippered foot against the smaller woman’s in a subtle gesture of thanks. ‘Deels is right, darling. But I’m not talking about the Pill. And I’m not concerned about you getting pregnant. I’d just like to get you some dental dams, and to make sure you know how to use them.’

Grace was silent for a full minute after that. (Patsy counted the seconds, amused by the rare sight of her chatterbox of a daughter standing before her truly speechless.) But the young woman eventually produced a response – the syllables of each word drawn out to express her very apparent disbelief. ‘ _Oh my act-u-al God! Mo-ther_!’

The referenced (now bottle) redhead just smirked at first, struck by the idea that, now they had the sofa to themselves, she and Delia looked very like they were holding an audience on the issue. But then her petite partner broke ranks. ‘ _Pats_!’

‘ _What_!?’ she breathed. ‘Too far?’

Delia merely nodded, shaking her head and chuckling. But the question brought Grace back to sit between them, stretching up to nuzzle Patsy’s cheek, as her mother heard her whisper, ‘Yes. _Way_ too far. But I still love you.’

They grinned at each other for a moment, forming a silent truce, until the older woman felt she should apologise. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. You know me. Safety first. Always.’

‘Always,’ the teenager agreed. ‘But anyway, I don’t need to go to Nonnatus. The Pride society has a tutorial for how to make your own from condoms.’

Patsy was impressed, but her self-confessed focus on safety led her to clarify something she almost immediately regretted. ‘You have condoms, then?’

That was answered by a raised eyebrow and some sarcasm. ‘ _Of course_ I have condoms, Mum. I’m not a _nun_.’

Hoping to deflect from the fact that the chat was steadily escalating towards cringeworthy status for both of them, she took a leaf out of Delia’s book and made a joke by way of a tenuous pun. ‘Don’t say that to Sr Monica Joan if you do end up visiting this week. Maybe stick to Keats, darling?’

Grace nodded sheepishly, unexpectedly slipping her Grandmother’s compact mirror out of her pocket, and snapping it open. ‘Look, we match our hair,’ she said, and Patsy chuckled as she pointed out their crimson cheeks in the cracked glass.

But it soon became obvious that the awkwardness was only just beginning, because Delia piped up, ‘I dunno. I think Sr MJ would applaud this whole conversation. To be honest, I’ve always wondered if _she_ might be family, too. And if that was one of the reasons she took the veil. I mean, back when _she_ was growing up, if it wasn’t technically _illegal_ for women, it was taboo and actively taught as a sin. Not just discriminated against with stuff like Section 28 preventing its “promotion”. And that was bad enough to go through, for all of us. I’ll never forget that meeting with Dorothy Whitmore. Or our relief when she was so chilled – and kind – about it. But, well, what was it Sr MJ said when I did that telephone delivery because I couldn’t leave and everyone else was already on call?’ The Welshwoman paused, recollecting, and her English partner took the compact from her daughter – from _their_ daughter. Patsy thought it sensible to shut the mirror pre-emptively in order that it’d be protected from further damage if it was dropped due to giggles. And, when Delia recalled the relevant quotation, she was very glad indeed. ‘“I have always assumed the results of the male organ to be more rewarding than the organ itself.” As kids these days would say, that’s _gay_. And I think _she_ is. In its widest sense as an umbrella term for the community.’

‘Oh my – _gosh_ –’ Grace stuttered between wheezing laughs, although Patsy noticed she was still sufficiently together to swap her usual expression for its gentler version. ‘I’m gonna struggle to keep a straight face when I next see her. Pun intended,’ the nineteen-year-old quipped when she’d calmed down. ‘And I’m not gonna tell _Anita_ how _embarrassing_ you two are.’

Patsy couldn’t help cackling at that, and Delia quickly joined in. But, when _they’d_ calmed down, it was evident her younger partner had one further trick up her sleeve. Almost literally, because she asked, nonchalantly, ‘Oh, so you’re not planning on teaching her a card game any time soon, then?’

‘ _Deels!_ ’ the older woman protested. ‘Now _you’re_ the one going too far.’ Yet, in the time it took to express her _own_ mortification, Grace had gone stock still. And realising that made Patsy turn her head warily, racking her brain for what to say.

But their daughter got there first, meeting her gaze in disbelief.

‘You – you mean it’s been a euphemism _this whole time_?’

Patsy could only nod.

And Grace, apparently, could only mime retching. Until she broke out into giggles again, eventually deadpanning, ‘Childhood. _Ruined_.’

Delia had the courtesy to acknowledge what she’d done. ‘ _Mae’n flin ‘da fi, cariad_. That’s to both of you. I’m sorry, my loves. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.’

Patsy shook her head, really quite glad it’d come up – come _out_ – so naturally, all things considered. Then she watched as Grace took her Co-Mam’s hand. ‘S’okay,’ she replied, sounding sincere, ‘you’ve clearly got used to having the house to yourselves. And I know your time off hasn’t matched for a while. So I’m going to stay at Sasha’s tonight,’ she stated offhandedly, getting up.

Delia was perceptibly concerned. ‘Are you sure, Gracie?’

‘Yes, Co-Mam. We’ve not seen each other in _ages_ now we’re halfway across the country, and she was fed up when I said I couldn’t because I wanted to catch up with you. But one extra night’s nothing after a whole childhood of split time. So you just text me when you’ve finished playing Patience, all right?’

‘ _Grace_!’ Patsy remonstrated, even as Delia broke into a sly smile.

‘What, Mum?’ their daughter returned smoothly. ‘Payback for leaving my innocence in tatters this evening. Besides,’ she added, green eyes sparkling as she grinned, ‘I’m too old to be sent to my room now.’

‘You are, yes,’ her mother agreed, her tone anything but annoyed, before taking a chance with some gentle “payback” in kind. ‘Our little girl’s all grown up,’ she said in a singsong voice. Then, switching to her usual register as Grace pouted, unimpressed, she finished, ‘And we’re so proud – in every sense of that word.’

Because they were.

And they always would be.

No matter what else Rob (or the rest of the world) might throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this read okay - not least because I know it was quite a leap in time!
> 
> Music note – the song Grace references Rob singing is here: https://youtu.be/7JhZqWCqKs8 
> 
> Thank you for your kindness in coming along on this slightly different journey with me, and your very generous feedback.
> 
> Particular thanks to Jojo_Is_A_Hedgehog, Echo7 and MystWords for their guidance and support throughout.


End file.
